Just Another Sunday
by Cloverfield
Summary: Something short, strange and a little sweet. One shot concerning Meg and Jo. Romance of sorts.


**DISCLAIMER**: (fangirl squeal) I love Bakuten! I don't own it though...

**PREFACE: **I suppose this is a Jo x Meg, of sorts. I got the idea for this, partially after watching the AMV 'Digging My Girl', created by bakablonde. Kudos to you for doing such a thing. Other inspiration comes from the anime (obviously) and various, miscellaneous factors which I will not go into... cough _my girlfriend_ cough.

Anyhoo, enjoy.

**Just Another Sunday**

The kitchen was empty aside from them. Even Kyo was no where to be found, leaving nothing but a discarded apron upon the bench and the faint scent of egg noodles to remind them he'd been cooking earlier that day.

The small television flickered with light as one of the many horror-flicks in Jo's collection played.

In so far as anyone knew, horror films were the only things Jo spent her wages on, besides various implements of sharp and horrible death, most of which were bought on discount from the city's many arms dealers.

Having Jo as a customer was good for business it seemed.

Meg stared at the small, fluorescent screen, blue eyes widened in morbid fascination.

Jo, for once, was not watching the movie. This was a repeat she'd played many times before. Normally, she would've watched it again regardless, but something was different this afternoon...

Jo had been thinking. Not a surprising occupation for a young woman of moderate intellect, but a peculiar past time for Jo.

Especially considering her subject.

She sighed, but Meg, engrossed in gory technicolour death, did not notice.

Meg.

That was the crux of the problem.

The younger woman had been on her mind lately, and this bothered Jo. Normally, the only things she thought about were guns and their next mission.

And the occasional, painful, unwanted and unexpected memory thrown in as well. Such things were better forgotten, and her large B-grade collection managed to help fade them out.

But she could not ignore these newer and infinitely more confusing thoughts.

She knew she felt _something_ for the girl- she would not have lived this long if she didn't- but the exact nature of those feelings was unclear. Jo had never been particularly good with emotions, especially not this one... however, that wasn't the problem at hand. Jo could live with admitting she felt a certain away about a woman; she, much like many others in Tokyo and indeed, the world, was not troubled by her –somewhat limited- morals.

What bothered her was... she couldn't explain what it was exactly...

Not how. Not when.

Certainly not why on her part- that was a mystery too deep to plumb, and certainly not something to puzzle over on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

No, not that.

Something other, but inextricably tied to what she felt for the girl.

A scream of intermingled horror and delight set her feet on the ground again. Meg had recoiled from the portable set upon watching the monster of the film's title –Radioactive Zombie Killer from Mars- die in a spectacularly _wet_ fashion; the film's lead actor having taken to him with a large, blunt chainsaw.

"Yeah! Woo! Stupid zombie! That'll teach you to mess with people from earth!" Meg's fist pumped the air repeatedly as the credits began to play, only slipping back down to her side when the red head noticed the look Jo was giving her.

"Eh heh, sorry, got a little excited." Sheepish, the girl slunk slowly down in her seat.

Jo continued to watch her.

"What's with you, Jo? You're acting strange. Strang_er_," corrected Meg.

"You don't care."

"Huh?"

Confusion in the blue eyes of the girl opposite her.

"You don't care." the words delivered from the older girl seemed flat, lifeless.

"Whaddaya mean, Jo? 'Course I care about you! I mean, you _know_ that. I've told you often enough-" scoffed Meg, annoyed.

"No. that's not what I meant." Jo struggled with her words, trying to figure out how exactly she could phrase her next sentence to leave the red head with no doubt as to what she meant.

"You don't care. About what I do. About who I am." The sentences were short and flat, and delivered with confusion in Jo's eyes and a creased brow. "About... me."

"What do you mean?" she asked, voice softer now and irritation gone.

"I kill things. I shoot things. I blow things up. I... destroy. That's what I do, that's who I am."

Meg's expression melted into a look of warm pity. It was obvious Jo was struggling here, lost in some kind of existential angst which the older woman was unused to.

"Jo, what you are isn't the same as what you do. Take Kyo for example. He's a pansy and a loser and he still manages to make the best croissants this side of Paris."

"But..."

"No buts Jo. What you do is mostly save my butt when I get dragged off by some green glowing brain thing, and make sure there's lots of pretty fireworks while you do it. If anything, what you are influences what you do, not the other way around. And what you are is a good person."

Meg smiled.

"Do you get it now?"

Jo, unsure that she could handle such a complicated piece of information, nodded slowly, hoping that Meg would take that for a yes, and stop talking.

Thinking about things made her head ache.

"Good."

There was a moment of brief hesitation before she crossed from her side of the table, and laid out next to Jo on the leather-backed seat.

Jo didn't think it was prudent to say anything, and let a small smile grace her lips as Meg reached over and hit 'Play'.

**End**

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **yeah, I know that was weird. Still, I hope it was enjoyable. And the title was just something random I got after realising I mentioned afternoon and Sunday in there. I actually wrote this on a Wednesday morning. Anyways, thanks for reading, and please review. Fanfic author's live on reviews (and the occasional nacho sandwich) so please do so!

Clover.


End file.
